“Oh! do you know, Mr. Trafford,” she said, gravely, “I think it is very wrong of you to encourage Mr. Erle to come so often to Beulah Place. Fern is pretty—very pretty, and Mr. Erle is fond of saying pleasant things to her, and all the time he knows Mr. Huntingdon wishes him to marry Miss Selby. He has no right to make himself so agreeable to your sister; and I think you ought to keep him in better order.”
“Oh! I don’t pretend to be Erle’s mentor,” he returned, a little sulkily; for he thought he saw her drift to keep him from talking of his own feelings. “I never interfere with other fellows.”
“Yes, but Fern is your sister,” in a reproachful voice; “and I do think you are to blame in this. Why do you not tell him that he must leave your sister alone, and keep to Miss Selby. Your grandfather would be very angry if he knew of these visits to Beulah Place, and then Mr. Erle would get into trouble.”
“I can’t help that,” was the indifferent answer. “Erle must take his chance with the rest of us; he knows as well as I do the risk he runs.” And in spite of her pre-occupation, Crystal noticed a curious change in Percy’s tone.
“Do you mean that he would get into serious trouble? is that what you would imply? I do not think you are doing your duty, Mr. Trafford, if you do not warn him of Mr. Huntingdon’s displeasure. Mr. Erle is weak, he is easily gulled, but he has good principles; you could soon induce him to break off his visits.”
“I don’t see that I need trouble myself about another fellow’s love affair; I have too much on my own mind. Of course you look impatient, Miss Davenport, it is a crime to speak of my own feelings; but how can you expect me to take interest in another fellow when I am so utterly miserable myself.”
“Mr. Trafford,” she said, trying to control her impatience, “I wish you would let me speak to you for once, as though I were your friend,” she would have substituted the word sister, but she feared to provoke one of his outbursts of indignant pleading.
“You know you may say what you like to me,” he returned, moved by the gentleness of her speech, for she had never been so gracious to him before. “You have more influence over me than any one else in the world. If you could make me a better man, Miss Davenport.”
“I would give much to do it,” she answered, in a low voice that thrilled him strangely. “Mr. Trafford, will you be angry with me if I speak to you very frankly, and earnestly—as earnestly,” here she paused, “as though we were bidding each other good-bye, to-night, for a long time.”
“If you will call me Percy,” he replied, with sudden vehemence, “you shall say what you like to me.”